


Art is Healing (a sequel to Art is Broken) - Letters From The Past

by alipopsie



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Bittersweet, Drugs and Alchohol ment, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I suck at tagging, M/M, Shooting, Short Story, They Say Fuck, also language is a thing ig, it's complex, sequel to an au to an au, so I'll stop there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-21 15:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15561150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alipopsie/pseuds/alipopsie
Summary: Sequel to Art Is Broken by gloriousdaeoriginally posted christmas 2017 to my wattpad but now I've figured myself out and got AO3 so here it is on here :)





	Art is Healing (a sequel to Art is Broken) - Letters From The Past

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Art Is Broken by gloriousdae  
> originally posted christmas 2017 to my wattpad but now I've figured myself out and got AO3 so here it is on here :)

Alexander woke up to a loud crashing sound. He had a small moment of freak out, thinking that maybe someone had broken in, but then he noticed the empty spot in the bed next to him and the light illuminating the room, groaned softly, buried his face in his pillow and tried to get back to sleep.

He was almost back asleep when there was another crash. He groaned louder, looking over to check the clock on his side of the bed.

"John, what the fuck?"

He heard his husband jump, another crashing sound, and a quiet string of swear words. "W-what do you mean?"

"John, it's three forty-six a.m."

"Sounds like a reasonable time to be awake."

Alex moved to glare at him, wincing a bit at the light that he'd suddenly turned towards. As he adjusted, he saw John kneeling in front of the closet and putting an assortment of old sketchbooks into a box that had clearly been dropped several times.

"Have you slept at all tonight?"

John shrugged, standing back up with the now repacked box. "Maybe."

Alexander cocked an eyebrow at him, smirking to himself when John broke eye contact to look at the box in his arms, a sign that showed he didn't want to continue the conversation. One he'd seen many times in the short time he could remember. "Come back to bed."

John shook his head stubbornly "This is important."

"That box is full of used sketchbooks. What could possibly be so important?"

John dropped the box on his own side of the bed, picking up one of the books from the box. "This."

Alex looked at the dates scribbled on the front, only becoming more confused "A book you finished years ago?"

John grinned and nodded "Yup. But that's not what's important."

Alex watched as he flipped through it until he found what he was clearly looking for.

John pulled out a loose sheet of paper and handed it to Alex, waiting for him to read it.

The letter was written in a green, glittery ink. One John used often to write. The pens were littered all around their house, the floors were stained green in some places, and were covered in a slight shimmer, from times that one of them had stepped on a pen, breaking it, but they still seemed to have a limitless supply.

Alex smiled at the small doodle at the bottom of the paper before beginning to read.

Hey, John.

Sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye. You know I'm busy, but I still hate having to leave you like this. I have a little time before I have to go, but you look so peaceful sleeping I don't want to wake you.

I wish I could stay with you all the time, I wish I could stay and watch you draw, sitting right beside you as you bring to life scenes, animals and plants alike. I wish I could sit next to you and write while you hold my hand in the same, delicate way you hold your pencil. I'm not sure you even realise, but when you draw you hold the pencil like it's priceless and incredibly delicate, yet you move it so violently sometimes I'm scared you'll hurt yourself with it, but despite the violent movements, your sketches are flawless, dripping with memories of long walks, visits to countless zoos, and all the times I've realised how incredibly in love with you I am, over and over again.

I really do love you, you know. I know you tend not to think very highly of yourself, especially your appearance, but you are gorgeous. In a way, you look almost like one of your paintings. Not a portrait, just a painting. Your face is like a landscape, your freckles paint a beautiful, starry sky all over you, and sometimes I like to try to spot tiny constellations in them. I love your eyes. When I look into them I can see just how you're feeling. Looking into your eyes makes me feel like the most loved man on the planet. But most of all, I love your hair. I love when it's tied up, and two little pieces fall by each of your ears, framing your beautiful face perfectly. I love how when you pull it back, you always make sure to include every last bit that you can into the tie. But my favorite is when it's down, I love how your hair surrounds your face in one big poofy mess, I love how that mess can only be cleaned by Lafayette. When he's brushing your hair, I must admit I'm slightly jealous that he gets to play with it while I just sit and watch, but you're so peaceful. Until he hits a knot, but otherwise you're incredibly serene, and it just makes me want to kiss you but I'll probably get stabbed so I don't.

I don't know how long I've really known you anymore, I just know I've loved you even longer than that.

I have to go now, but know that I love you, John Laurens, and I never won't. I promise.

Yours Sincerely,

A. Hamilton

Alex finished reading and looked back up at John, tears starting to form in his eyes as he looked at his husband.

Inside, however, he was conflicted. On one hand, he loved seeing and hearing things from his past, but on the other, it only reminded him of his amnesia, how he wasn't the same Alexander John fell in love with all those years ago, or the one who wrote this letter.

He didn't blame John, of course. Not entirely, at least. He did acknowledge that his behaviour during the first three and a half months after he was shot didn't exactly help, but it was an insecurity of his ever since Hercules told him what happened right after he woke up.

John raised an eyebrow expectantly. "So? What do you think?"

"It- It was wonderful. Do you have any more?"

"Countless. You loved leaving notes. All over the place, all the time. That's my favourite, though. But yeah, I can get you some more." John started flicking through the pages of the book again, occasionally taking out more pieces of paper and handing them to Alexander.

Alex started to read a few of them. John was right; Alexander had certainly liked leaving a lot of notes. Many of them were similar to the first, letting John know where he was, reminding him how much he loved him, and then leaving a rushed ending as he realised that he was, in fact, leaving a note for a reason. Others were little notes, ones that could probably be summarised in a few words, like buy more milk or I stepped on another pen sorry, but were instead entire pages of elaboration on the message.

After reading a few notes, he looked back up at John, who had picked up the first letter he'd showed him, and was staring blankly at the writing.

Alex cleared his throat quietly and John looked at him, slightly startled. Alex looked at him sheepishly, "Sorry... I just- I had a question."

John looked at him curiously "Hm?'

"This... This drawing. A... Turtle? It's on most of the letters. I was wondering what it was."

John sighed. "I should've explained earlier. It'll be impossible to explain properly. It's an in-joke, you see. From our past, stupid, drunk high school selves. It doesn't make any sense, honestly."

"You're not exactly making me less curious."

"Alright, I'll try." John paused for a moment to think, then started. "Back in high school... Well, we weren't exactly the best behaved kids. We'd quite often come to class drunk, or hungover. But one time we were drunk, and we were drawing random things in class, and somehow I managed to draw... that. We called it the worst thing I've ever drawn, and found it far more hilarious than we should've. But then we started doodling it on almost everything. It became our thing. It's in our book in a few places, if you care to look for it."

Alex frowned thoughtfully. He was having the feeling again, a déjà vu, of sorts. The same feeling he got whenever one of his friends told him a story. He'd need to be told a few more times for it to stick, but he knew, somehow, that it was real.

"Thank you. Now, can you help me clean these up?" He gestured to the letters strewn across the bed.

They silently worked for a moment, collecting the papers into a neat stack.

"If you don't mind... I'd like to keep these for a bit... reread them a few times?"

John nodded and Alex moved the stack of papers to his bedside table. John picked up the box and placed it back in the top of their closet, then stood in front of it, looking at Alex.

"Just... One more thing, John?"

"... What?"

"Come to sleep. You've been up far too long."

John shook his head stubbornly "Absolutely not."

"Then... Turn off the light. Come hug me... We both need it."

Alex smirked as he heard his husband groan, walking over to turn off the lights, then getting into bed next to Alexander, cuddling up close to him.

Alexander hugged him back gently and started to doze off. Just before he started losing consciousness, he heard soft snores starting to come from the man cuddled into him. He sighed and kissed John's cheek gently, before giving in to sleep himself.


End file.
